Never Surrender
by ThunderPig
Summary: The infamous "three-year gap". This author's idea of what might have happened in order to unite Bulma and Vegeta. Keeping everyone "in character". Mature content, including strong language and sexual situations. Reader discretion is advised ;) [Story in progress.]
1. Chapter 1

Vegeta stirred. Simply waking burned his tired, beaten muscles and he groaned.

There was someone else in the room with him. The prince turned his head to the side and felt the plastic tug of the oxygen mask against his face, protesting the movement almost as much as his aching neck.

_'What is she doing here?'_ he thought, perplexed. Bulma Briefs, the insufferable, beautiful Capsule Corps. heiress was resting at a small desk by his bed, blue hair spilled over her arms in crazy ringlets while she slept.

Blue was his favorite color. Worse, wild and haloed around her head like that, the woman's latest hairstyle looked positively Saiyan.

Vegeta hated her for that.

He rolled his eyes and dragged himself to a sitting position, tearing off the oxygen mask. Acutely aware of every aching bone in his body, he closed his eyes and tried to remember how he ended up battered, bruised, and bedridden.

The Gravity Room. He'd been trying to dodge a bouncing energy beam and failed. The blast had streaked across his right side, face and shoulder like a comet, searing his skin in its wake. Having collapsed to his knees, he knew the blast would bounce back toward him and had launched an assault of his own to stop it. The energy blasts collided and the result was a powerful explosion.

In short, he'd overdone things once again, only this time the blasted machine had been blown to pieces.

_'Kakarot...'_ The Saiyan opened his eyes and found the strength to appropriately snarl, ripping off the bed sheet that had covered him. He hated himself for many things, but most significantly he hated himself for being unable match Goku's legendary success. That clown had everything: he was powerful and respected, loved by everyone he met, a Saiyan without being a SAIYAN, and was in every way the leader Vegeta was not trained to be.

Every moment Vegeta failed to ascend, he felt the heavy whip of failure lacerating his already crippled pride. The prince had been through many challenges in his life and he had survived many hardships, but never had he faced something that filled him with such self-loathing, such personal disgust, that he found himself wishing he were someone else.

Not just anyone else. Kakarot.

The thought dripped down his brain like acid until he cut it off as abruptly as he could manage. "No," he hissed, "I am better than that fool. I am a prince," and he all but promised himself, "I do not wish to be a Third Class."

As always, he came to the same conclusion: he must train harder. However, now his training would be greatly hindered without the Room and he would require a replacement immediately.

Half limping to Bulma's side, Vegeta abruptly slammed his palm flat upon the desk, right in front of her face.

"Woman!" he barked. The heiress' eyes snapped open and she yelped, flinging herself away from both Vegeta and the desk, toppling off her chair in the process.

"What the FUCK!" Bulma shrieked. Her heart was pumping so much adrenaline through her tiny veins that the prince could see the wild pulsation in her neck. Awake enough now to remember and hate him, Bulma's eyes narrowed angrily.

"What is WRONG with you?!" she demanded, too angry to even blush over the fact that her position on the floor was a less-than-modest one.

"You will supply me with another Gravity Room," Vegeta told her.

Bulma's eyelid twitched and she got to her feet. "Like Hell I will!" she spat, squaring her delicate shoulders. Vegeta sneered at her as she continued, "Do you have any idea what something like that costs?! No, of course not. Everything is just PROVIDED for you! You don't have to work for ANYTHING-"

"Shut your insolent mouth, bitch!" Vegeta snapped back, "You know damn well what I am working toward! Do not make me question WHY."

While Bulma's mouth had not shut during his initial interruption, she closed it then and sealed her pretty lips into a fine line at the Saiyan's threat. They both knew he was training to fight the androids with more intensity than any of her friends. Desperate to unlock the secret to Super Saiyan ascension, the prince had taken "training" to a whole new, obsessive level, laboring for days on end without rest or recompense.

She took a few deep breaths through her nose and glared at him with heavy malice. "I've been working on an upgraded replacement for months," she told him as evenly as she could manage, "After you blew up the original, I had my father allocate more of our tech budget toward the upgraded Room's completion. You know, more manpower to get it done."

Vegeta stared at her and Bulma smirked, mistaking the silence for appreciation.

"That's right," she folded her arms across her chest, "In a few days you'll have an even better G.R. to kill yourself in. You can thank me now. I'm waiting. Go ahead, say it."

"Your laziness is beyond my understanding," Vegeta said to her widening eyes, "You slept here when you could have been ensuring my timely return to training."

"FUCK YOU!" Bulma kicked his shin as hard as she could, but to no avail. Undeterred, she kicked at him again and again as he calmly shoved past her and left the room. "I've been working day and NIGHT on this shit! For you! For Earth! How DARE you-?!"

After leaving her behind, yelling and fuming in the guest room, Vegeta finally gave in to a vicious grin. The hilarity of enraging the woman was endless. Everyone was afraid of him; everyone thought him too volatile to trust, but not Bulma. She was afraid of him, sure, when she remembered to be, but more often than not, the genius heiress fought with him constantly. Like royalty, she refused to be pushed around and hated being given orders.

He could relate to that.

But more importantly, Vegeta knew that after insulting her, Bulma would redouble Capsule Corps.' efforts to finish the new and improved Gravity Room, if only to prove him wrong about her work ethic.

Feeling victorious, the Saiyan prince made his way to the kitchen.


	2. Chapter 2

"Ugh, just LOOK at him," Yamcha said with thorough disgust to mask his jealousy.

Bulma brought down her tech magazine and leaned forward in her pool chair to watch the Saiyan prince kick, jab, and in general dash around underwater. Without a functional Gravity Room, Vegeta had decided to instead monopolize the family pool.

It was a decent idea. The Briefs' personal pool was a gigantic, Olympic-sized thing that ran deeper than any regular, commercially available construction. Plus, training underwater provided the Saiyan with a slightly better environment than he had access to otherwise: water provided more resistance than air and there was the added challenge of being unable to breathe.

"A girl can only do so much, Yamcha," Bulma sighed, "I told him to rest. He won't do it."

"A real man knows how to take a break," Yamcha grinned, running his hands down his girlfriend's shoulders.

Deeply submerged, Vegeta ground his teeth. He could hear Yamcha speaking just as clearly as he could hear Bulma adjust herself to stare. The latter, he didn't mind, but the former, he despised. Yamcha was like an animal in heat, constantly pawing around the Capsule Corps. heiress while making thinly veiled requests for sex.

He usually did it within earshot, and the prince wondered if the Earthling was actually ignorant enough to believe his attempted display of dominance meant anything to Vegeta at all.

He had heard them have sex once, much to his endless chagrin. To be more accurate, he had heard Yamcha. The scar-faced Earthling was a trembling, dogged mess. He couldn't really hear Bulma-not that he'd lingered around long enough to get a good listen-but from what he had picked up, she'd sounded more like she was guiding him along rather than enjoying anything herself.

He snorted into the chlorine. No woman he'd ever slept with had left his chambers capable of walking, much less so considering their efforts an act of charity.

He heard Bulma shrug the man off. "No, not right now," she complained, "I'm reading."

"I think you should take your own advice and take a break," Yamcha told her playfully, snapping her bra strap underneath her tank top, and plainly ignoring his partner's disinterest.

"Do I need to say it in a different language, buddy?" Bulma asked, "No! Back off, I'm reading. God, Yamcha! I mean, Vegeta's right there! What's your problem?"

Though he was running out of air, Vegeta smiled and sent off a few swift kicks, imagining the destruction of Yamcha's reproductive organs.

"Sheesh, fine," Yamcha slumped down on the concrete, poolside surface like a disappointed child. Vegeta felt the man's eyes lock onto him and the short hairs on his neck bristled in irritation.

"You know, Bulma, if I didn't know any better, I'd see some connection between letting this Saiyan-douchebag-murderer live with you and being suddenly uninterested in spending time with me."

Bulma was not impressed by Yamcha's suggestion. Immediately outraged, she demanded, "And since when did time 'spent' with you only count when I got naked?!"

"Well! Just...look at him," Yamcha said again, this time miserable, but Bulma didn't take the bait. Rejecting her boyfriend's passive-aggressive request for praise, the heiress instead rewarded him with a stern swatting from her magazine and insisted he "man-up".

"You were never this jealous of Goku!"

"Babe, he was a kid! What the fuck did I have to be jealous of?!"

"He did grow up, you know!"

Vegeta's smile faded from his face. Now that their argument had progressed to its usual boiling point, it was no longer about Vegeta and the Saiyan prince was immediately both disinterested and irritated by the sound of their angry voices. The distraction before had at least been interesting, but he would not tolerate further interruptions, especially if they were going to be so pointless.

Blasting out of the water, the Saiyan prince landed with a glorious splash, poolside. Bulma jumped, surprised, and Yamcha's hands tightened into fists.

"If you idiots are going to continue squabbling, I suggest you do it elsewhere. I have training to do." He pointed toward the main Capsule Corps compound, "Leave."

"This is none of your business, asshole," Yamcha shouted, hating the way Vegeta looked slick and statuesque in the sun. A thin film of water glistened over his bare chest. His hair, usually a thick, dark fire atop his head, was weighed down instead to his water-glossed shoulders, like a tapered lion's mane.

Bulma noticed too, but she was used to being around beautiful men. She had, after all, grown up with Goku and the others.

"Could you hear us down there?" Bulma asked, blankly.

The prince sneered at her for in any way doubting the superiority of his Saiyan senses. "Of course."

Bulma promptly blushed, thinking of a few choice times she'd thought herself or herself and Yamcha safely sound-proofed. She'd complained about the prince many times when she'd thought herself out of earshot and sexually speaking she was mortified.

"It isn't wise to have me say it again. Turn around and exit my training area!" the prince commanded, folding his arms across his chest with great impatience.

Yamcha looked like he was ready to leave, but the heiress' embarrassment had faded into rage. "You men are EXACTLY alike. I hate you both!" Vegeta blanched at the accusation, but Bulma went on, "You get ONE thing stuck on your mind and that's all you care about! You don't notice anything else I say, you don't appreciate anything else I do-and speaking of which, Vegeta, your G.R. should be ready by the end of the day. Yes, _YOU'RE WELCO-_"

"Compare me to that miserable weakling again and I will remove your wretched tongue!" Vegeta shouted, insulted. Moreover, however, he greatly disliked how much he found himself bothered by Bulma's belief that he and Yamcha were in any way similar.

He took a few menacing steps toward her.

"Woah, man, back off!" Yamcha said, stepping in front of Bulma, but the heiress stormed in front of him anyway, bringing herself only a breath away from the Saiyan prince.

Vegeta snarled and prepared himself for the sick pleasure her wrath promised him. He could smell her fearlessness and it dazzled his heightened senses. But this time, instead of a verbal barrage of insults, the blue-haired genius slapped him squarely across the jaw.

Stunned simple, Vegeta only barely registered how Yamcha's complexion had faded into a ghastly white.

"Di-did you-? _Woman, did you just...?!_" Vegeta sputtered.

"...Well, I...!" Bulma shouted, suddenly at a loss for why she'd hit him and too-aware of her proximity to a murderer of planets, "...I told you to get some rest!" but both of them knew that hadn't earned him the slap. Vegeta's eyes narrowed to deadly slits.

"So. You. HIT ME?!" the Saiyan roared, grabbing her by the shoulders with every intention of murder. Blood sang through his veins as he shook her once, loosening the red headband she used to so often tame her perm. When the accessory slipped out of her hair, it released several hairpins and unleashed a wild waterfall of wavy aqua all around her face and shoulders.

"No! Vegeta, stop!" Bulma shrieked, remembering to fear him now like she was supposed to. Yet, glittering and huge, her eyes managed to hold his vengeful gaze and she stared into his pupils until his own eyes began to dart around her features.

He tried to tell himself she looked ridiculous but instead he had the testosterone-screaming thought that she looked exactly as she would after a long, hard night with him. Her soft hair brushed his knuckles. Her heart was pounding, her eyes were sparkling, and her breath was sweet-so close to his cheek, still burning with the memory of her angry hand. It hadn't hurt him at all; he'd loved it.

Overcome by a moment of sheer, hot-blooded insanity, Vegeta barked, "STRIKE ME AGAIN AND I WILL _FUCK YOUR HAIR STRAIGHT_, WOMAN!"

The heiress managed a hiccup of a gasp and her eyes, if possible, went wider than before, locked on his face and awaiting some explanation.

Realizing what he'd said, Vegeta swallowed no small amount of personal horror and released her, amending, "Touch me again and Kakarot's friend or not, I will END you, is that clear?" He emphasized "end", hoping to sound dangerous.

"...Okay," Bulma nodded quickly and tried to look acquiescent, but her delicate eyebrows remained ever so slightly knitted. She was a little confused, but she wasn't stupid. Her eyes, Vegeta noticed to his own tremendous regret, were gleaming with curiosity and interest. Still, she took a few generous steps back to where Yamcha was marinating in a potent cocktail of panic and bewilderment.

Cursing himself in every alien tongue he'd ever known, Vegeta blasted off into the sky.


	3. Chapter 3

The Saiyan prince stalked around his new Gravity Room like a panther. Nothing Bulma did was good enough; everything she did was stupid. He hated her and her bizarre hair in spite of what he had said because there was absolutely no way he had meant it.

Irate, he slammed a fist into an idly floating training bot. The machine fell to the ground with a loud clank, dented and smoking.

He couldn't get rid of her. Her scent was everywhere and he wagered that killing her would be unacceptable to Kakarot and the others. Bulma hadn't been exaggerating when she claimed to have worked day and night to supply him with training equipment: the Room was perfumed with her expert touch. Going anywhere near the confounded control panel had him contemplating suicide, for that was evidently where she had labored the most.

Vegeta slammed a red button and felt the gravity intensify. He floated into the air, relishing the way the increased resistance began to drag at his core and extremities.

_'I haven't had sex in years,'_ he told himself, grimly, flexing his arms and legs,_ 'Surely these feelings, this blasted attraction, is my body's reaction to that starvation. It is nothing I cannot overcome.'_

His solution would be simple. The prince would throw himself into his training with more vigor than ever before, and there wouldn't be a scrap of space left in his brain to consider the blue-haired heiress until such a time that his hormones shriveled up and died. Or until he killed Kakarot and destroyed Earth altogether.

_'I will avoid her,'_ he told himself with grave seriousness.

Suddenly, the holo-screen bleeped into existence before him.

"Vegeta!"

_'God._ _**Dammit**__.'_

Bulma was frowning. Her arched, aqua eyebrows had assumed an expert and well-practiced, scientific scowl and her eyes betrayed nothing of what had happened by the pool. In every way the woman seemed to have brushed off the encounter; she had ignored his "threat" and for some perverse reason, Vegeta found himself irritated by that.

"You broke bot 47!" she scolded, nodding toward the sparking pile of metal now all but plastered to the floor by the increased gravity.

Vegeta smirked and crossed his arms in defiance, his body language daring her to find out just how few fucks he gave about the broken robot.

"So?" he asked, voice rumbling.

"So!" Bulma continued, heated, "The more things you break the more money I have to spend! I do not like spending money on you!"

Vegeta raised an eyebrow and sent a swift, intentional look around the room before returning his gaze to her eyes, indicating he rather thought the opposite.

"Oh, shut up," the heiress laughed suddenly, her frown melting into pretty laughter. Vegeta allowed himself a satisfied smirk, enjoying the victory of having her agree with him almost as much as he enjoyed the opposite.

"Well, the rest of the bots won't work with that one broken," she sighed, looking away from him and typing something on her end of the screen. In a moment, it appeared as if she stood up, but the camera stayed focused closely on her face and shoulders. "They're manufactured to work as a set and for safety, they won't work if one is experiencing an error-"

"SAFETY?" Vegeta shouted, dropping his arms from his chest and bringing his hands into tight fists. "At what point did you dare to consider me weak enough to require a _fail-safe?!_" The very word made him sick.

"You never let me finish a sentence, do you Vegeta?" Bulma shot back, exasperated. Yet, the Saiyan prince detected little of the sting that usually fortified the words she spat at him. "And no, it's not about your power level! I know how strong you are, ok tough guy?" She glanced down toward her shoulders and then, as if she hadn't meant to, snapped her eyes back toward wherever it was she was doing.

Vegeta growled at her. So she did think something of their last confrontation.

Undeterred, Bulma went on, "I just...I just felt like...Well, after yesterday I realized that you don't really have anyone around here looking out for you. Here you are training to help us and nobody has your back."

"Woman, you are wasting my time."

"I am not," she pouted. She_ pouted._ Like a princess. Vegeta's blood went predator-smooth...and then he floated a little farther away from the god-forsaken control panel, horrified at himself.

"You could have friends here," she insisted, determined to finish her thought. Unmoved, the prince worked up a decent, biting comeback to her soft-hearted nonsense but never had a chance to unleash it.

The door to the Gravity Room slid open and the holo-screen snapped off. The prince blinked. The Room was programmed to return itself to Earth's normal gravity when any door or window was open, and so, as a result, Vegeta was rocketed toward the ceiling with an ungraceful _SLAM!_

Outrageously pissed, Vegeta barked, "OF ALL THE IGNORANT-"

"Oh, chill out, _your majesty_," Bulma laughed, standing in the doorway like a silhouetted, engineering goddess. Her head was wreathed in curls of cyan, per usual, and there was a tiny holo-link floating by her face. She promptly snatched it from the air and stuffed it into her bulky tool bag as she walked into the Room.

"I'm here to fix my robot."

Now unsure of just how angry he should be, considering the heiress had shown up entirely unprovoked to fix his equipment, the Saiyan landed on the ground with a royal, "Humph." He watched her walk right past him and to the destroyed machine, on a mission, and was beside himself with the embarrassing thought that blue was his favorite color. When she bent over to inspect the thing, Vegeta's cheeks began to burn.

He'd changed his mind. His favorite color was her ass.


End file.
